Saturday, May 07, 2011

Everyday should be Mothers' Day

Tomorrow is Mothers' Day here in the States. For over a week now, we've been listening to ads from people telling us to show Mom our appreciation by buying their stuff. Of course, for those of us of a certain age, the only way we can actually show Mom our appreciation is to raise her from the dead as a shambling zombie. I'm not sure Mom would go for that. She always liked to look her best and probably would not think having rotting bits of her face fall off was her best. On the other hand--the one that hasn't fallen off yet--she did have a flair for the dramatic and she would be a big hit at the Fremont Market where, coincidentally, I will be spending the day selling stuff that I'm sure your mother would love.

Of course, I won't be raising her from the dead as a zombie. That's impossible; we had her cremated. Fortunately, there are other ways to bring her back to life. All week, over at Facebook, people have been putting up pictures of their mothers as their profile pictures. I'm a sucker for that kind of sentimental gesture.

Mom, mid 1920s.

Here is Mom demonstrating the family squint. This squint is a precious family heirloom, passed down for generations. My sisters and I all share the squint. The squint is believed to have originated with our Scottish ancestors who, every spring, would emerge from ther mud hovels and squint at the ball of fire in the sky that they had not seen in months.

Mom, early 1930s.

Mom, as a Campfire Girl. Campfire Girls, with their great uniform, may have been a gateway drug to Mom's love of the theatrical. Because my grandfather was a camera buff, I have dozens of pictures of Mom standing on the porch or in the yard of whatever house they lived in that year showing off a costume.

Mom, mid 1940s.

Mom, (far right) undercover, fighting crime. We may never know the full extent of my mother's crime fighting activities because I haven't made them up, yet.

Mom, late 1940s.

If you can't figure out what this is picture of, you are a communist and should go back where you came from. When we were married, Tessa carried that fan and I wore that suit (the green one, not the white one). As to what that means, you can keep your dirty mouth shut, Dr. Freud.

Mom, mid 1960s.

As a mom, one of Mom's duties was to take us camping and make sure we got our recommended annual allowance of carbonized marshmallows and mosquito bites. Dad also came on these outings to act as chauffeur, native guide, and photographer.

Mom, mid 1980s.

After Mom booted that last of her freeloading kids out of the house (that would be me), she looked around for new ways to stay active. She had already done crime fighting, so she settled on roller derby.

Mom, early 1990s.

Mom, at a wedding, with some dirty hippie.

Wednesday is Dad's birthday, he'll get his retrospective treatment then.